


Anal Eyes Analyze Anal Lies

by Crash1969 (autoerotic)



Category: Crash (1996)
Genre: Anus, I don't know what to tag this as, M/M, except maybe, you'll all know what I mean when you read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26789377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autoerotic/pseuds/Crash1969
Summary: In which Catherine's curiosity brings a night of bonding between James and Vaughan.
Relationships: James Ballard/Vaughan (Crash)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Anal Eyes Analyze Anal Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly based on movie Crash but also book Crash which I'm in the middle of reading right now, so I guess consider it movie canon but divergent to a degree.

Vaughan and I, as a unit, drove along the expressways through the night, chatting and laughing about every little this and that. Ever since we met, I was enamored with his bizarrities, finding him difficult to understand, but I loved it. Our friendship was based on a mutual love for the eroticism of car accidents, which not a lot of people can claim. 

And my wife was really keen on us fucking.

“Vaughan,” I said, as we sat in the back of his Lincoln Continental, staring up at the smoggy skies. “My wife…” I found myself unable to finish the sentence, my mouth had crumpled and I spat a little from a low chuckle.

“Hm?”

Vaughan scratched the side of his head, and then did the same to his crotch, digging fingernails into dry skin. In some ways, he was repulsive, but in others he was a real wonder. 

“My wife, Catherine is… Uh…”

“A bitch?” offered the doctor, pursing his lips like he just roasted her.

“No, that wasn’t what I was going to say,” I replied. Sometimes I wondered if Vaughan was jealous, but knowing that he really got around, I couldn’t be sure. Maybe, unlike him, the jealousy didn’t swing both ways.

Vaughan didn’t seem ripe to talk about her. “Then what?”

“She’s a little obsessed with the idea of…” 

“The what?” 

I wasn’t able to spit it out. The word, spoken primarily by Catherine, was not a pleasant one to repeat. I looked down like my brain had just become a popsicle, frozen and fruity. I had to work up the courage for it. Finally, yes, finally… “Your anus.”

There was no response from Vaughan, not for what seemed like ages. When he decided to speak, his voice was awash with confusion, “Uranus?” 

“No, yours.” I sighed.

“My…?” Vaughan frowned, spit dribbling down the side of his mouth, oozing out past the one tooth he didn’t have. “Oh, my anus!” He sounded victorious. 

I didn’t like to hear it. I’d had my mouth on a few anuses, now and again. Yeah, I’ve eaten ass. Licked the crack, too. Mostly women, a couple times men. That was neither here nor there, I was trying to make a point, but this growing bubble in my throat was preventing the discussion. I had to laugh, there was no other choice. Snot shot out of my nose, splatting against the back of the headrest. A little embarrassing, but so was this topic of conversation.

“All I can say… I was balls deep in her ass, and she was talking to me like it was a police interrogation. She kept going on about you, your balls, your semen… Your…”

“My anus?” Vaughan ventured. 

“Yes.” 

“Hm.” 

He looked at me with an expression that was serious, his brows knit together, his dark eyes shimmering with a glimmer of deep thought. “Well, Ballard. There’s a lot to be said for a good anus.”

I didn’t want to hear that. My brain tried to block it out. The first time I ever saw Vaughan’s dick was in the back of my car, and I jerked him off. Remembering that was fine. I could think about his penis all day, but don’t quote me on that. But the words Catherine spoke to me reverberated in my brain. The words, wrapped up in APA terminology, clinical and frigid. 

Yet, the word, out of all of them, that stuck in my mind was ‘anus’. And how I wished that weren’t the case. I would give anything to have my mind erased, and to never hear it again. 

“Please don’t say things like that,” I mumbled. 

“A little prudish today, are we, Ballard?” Vaughan laughed. “Catherine knows, she knows. She knows the art.”

The art.

“The art?”

“The art of the anus.”

I bit my lower lip. “No.”

Vaughan smacked me on the arm and I was startled, he was gasping for air, laughing at his own words. Alright. Maybe there was something inherently funny about ‘anus’, but it was neither the time nor the place for shits and giggles. Especially not shits, God please, not during this talk.

“Oh come on, don’t be a wet towel. What’d she have to say about it? Come on, tell me.” Vaughan smiled, mouth twisting in various directions as he struggled to contain himself.

“She… Well, she…” I had to take a deep breath. “She asked me about your anus, how I pictured it, and if I would like to… Thrust my dick into it.”

Those words oozed out of my mouth with such difficulty. No, I wasn’t a prude. But the way Catherine spoke of it, and the way she fantasized me getting with Vaughan, it was weird. I didn’t even tell her that we already messed around. I kind of wanted to smother her with a pillow, not to death, but just to scare her into never going on about Vaughan’s anus again.

Those magnificent eyebrows raised. “Oh?” Vaughan said. His curiosity piqued, his dick, as I could see through his jeans, had peaked. I frowned.

“Yeah. I think she really likes the idea of us together.” I shook my head.

“Is that so bad?” Vaughan asked. 

I liked the way he spoke. He had some magnetism about him, remnants of his television show persona. Even throughout the entirety of Transportation, as boring of a show it was and as dull of a place as the Road Research Laboratory, he had this special vibe. Like he was the only thing keeping the program interesting, and perhaps he was. 

But I didn’t process what he said until a few moments later. I was too busy looking at him, thinking about him on television, wondering about the way he worked. He did keep talking about starting up a new show, his 'project', something more focused on car accidents and less on the operations of traffic lights or flow of the roads.

Catherine pointed out to me, on the night of the anus monologue, that Vaughan’s cult leader personality was probably owed to the way he would play up to cameras. She said he was interested in technology, that he was intrigued by the meeting of man and machine. She said he was a bit of a pervert, sleeping with barely legals, but the way he could land them or anybody was all in Dr. Robert Vaughan, hoodlum and hypnotist, but beyond that, television show host.

I had spent too long in my thoughts. Vaughan waved his hand in front of my face. I came to. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking.” 

“About my anus?” Another barely suppressed laugh.

“No… No! About you, but not specifically… Not specifically your anus. Can we stop saying that, please? Can we call it an asshole? Or, let’s not speak of it at all, actually.” I was growing flustered.

Vaughan reached out and patted me on the back. “It’s just sex, Ballard. We both have a lot of it, the anus isn’t anything to be afraid of.”

Why?

“I guess…” I rubbed the bags under my eyes.

“Catherine wants to see us together, hm? What, should we take pictures? I’ve got my camera, if she’s so curious… Come on, I have an idea,” Vaughan said, and I watched his hand move towards his belt buckle.

I tried to protest, but the words didn’t come out. And honestly? Despite seeing it, briefly, once before, I was curious. Yes, damn it, I was curious about Vaughan’s asshole. See? So much better than ‘anus’, the word asshole had a certain finesse to it. At least, being slang, it was easier to take without gritting my teeth.

Before I knew it, Vaughan’s pants had once again dropped. I wondered how hard he hit his head during that motorcycle accident, I wondered if he had always been this way, or if exhibitionism was something derived from a hard knock to the noggin. 

He tossed me his camera. I can’t say I was fully looking forward to where this was going… Curiosity killed the cat, they say. But satisfaction, as the phrase continued, brought it back. I just didn’t expect Vaughan to go the full monty with it and bend over so readily. I gulped.

There it was.

“Should I spread it open?” he asked.

There was nothing I could say in that moment that would suffice, and besides that, he did it anyway. Yes, all the way, and I blinked solidly before swallowing once again. I brought the viewfinder up to my eye, honing in on the target. 

Vaughan said, “Is this good, Ballard?” 

“It’s… Yep.” 

“Great! Ready for my close up.”

If he had been anyone else, I probably would have decked him for saying something so horrific. I was not a prude. Not at all, in fact, I was in my wife’s ass on a regular basis, and the asses of many others. I was beginning to realize, right then and there, why I was having such a hard time with it. And it was because I was enamored with Vaughan, his magnetism, his dick, and -- 

Let me rephrase that. I was enamored with him and it was making me irritated that Catherine was into him, too. Worse yet, that we were taking pictures for her pleasure. And yet, my finger hit the button and with a flash and a click, there was the first of the photographs we would take that night. He was doing it for Catherine, I was doing it because every bone (and boner) in my body told me to follow what he said to do. 

Another picture and Vaughan made a peace sign between his own legs. Alright, that made me laugh. I was so angry beforehand over my jealousy, but that one gesture brought tears of joy to my eyes. Maybe this was one of the weirdest things that I had ever done, but because it was with Vaughan, I was alright with it. Even more than that, I was warming up to it.

Two more and Vaughan sat back down, cackling. He was having the best time, I could tell, and that made me want to laugh along with him. So I did. I laughed until I felt like I was going to piss my pants. Actually, I think I might have pissed them just a little bit, but I didn’t say anything about that. Vaughan would have laughed harder, which would have made me laugh harder, which would just worsen the issue. 

I didn’t expect him to lean in and kiss me. 

I was startled, at first. One second, I was guffawing with him, sounding like a chicken on the fritz, and then the next our lips touched. Vaughan, the cult leader, the television star, the nightmare angel -- where did that last one come from? Well, he rested his wrist on my shoulder, cupping the side of my face with his other hand, complete with dirty fingernails.

I shut my eyes, I was taking it in. He smelled of semen just as much as his car did, and his lips were cracked, rough, and scarred. We made out for a little while, under the overpass with the cracks of sky poking through between the lanes. He pulled away and took some of my spit with him, dripping off the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Ballard,” he said, wiping the spittle away with the back of his hand. 

“Thank you,” I choked out.

Vaughan stretched his arms out, and then put them in the air. “I’m sure Catherine would have loved to see that.”

It had to go back to her, I guess. Now I wasn’t sure if Vaughan kissed me for his sake, my sake, or my wife’s. Surely he must have had some kind of attraction to me, otherwise he wouldn’t have just gone for it. I frowned nevertheless. “I suppose.”

He must have detected the mournfulness in my tone, because he gave me a look of sympathy. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding like he genuinely meant it. 

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to force a laugh out. It was caught in my throat. “You’re right, Catherine would be wet over it.” 

“Hey… Hey. I didn’t do it for her. If I had, I would have asked you to photograph us. I kissed you because I wanted to,” he said. 

I have to admit, I was relieved. “Really?” I asked.

“You’re one of my kind, Ballard. And you taste a hell of a lot better than Seagrave.” 

I had no idea he ever had something going with Seagrave, but I guess that’s the moment I found out. I guess I couldn’t be surprised. Vaughan seemed to fuck absolutely everyone, and as Catherine said, his charm was a part of the magic love potion. Hell, he probably fucked everyone in the car crash cult at least once. 

“I’ll develop those pictures of my anus for your wife, but that kiss was for you alone.” 

Ah, we were back to the anus. I guess I wasn’t shocked, all roads did seem to lead back to the source. The source being a literal asshole. I was flattered, though, that he kissed me and he meant it. Vaughan had become a best friend to me, and beyond that, with the occasional benefit. We never took it all the way, but I figured we would at some point. 

“I hope she’ll be satisfied,” I laughed. 

“Well, if not, maybe she can see it in person. You ever have a threesome, Ballard?”

I had, but not recently. Catherine and I were always thinking up ways we could spice up our sometimes monotonous sex life, and she would invite one of her friends. “Yeah, who hasn’t?” I replied. Plenty of people, I was sure, but that’s what I said anyway.

“Good to know.” Vaughan sniffed. 

We let a little bit of time pass before he spoke again. 

“So, I’m picturing our project focusing on the impacts of the crash tests, like really focusing. Do you think you’ll be able to get a crew together? You’ve probably got loads of people you can call, from your commercial studio. I have some people, too.” 

Oh, right. The ‘project’, he was talking about that again. I had produced a few car commercials in my time, I knew my way around a sound stage, and I was fully ready to help if I could.

“I’ve got friends in high places,” I responded. “Who do you have?”

“The guy who used to direct my old show, for one. It wasn’t difficult to convince him. I’m very excited for this, Ballard, I really am. You, working with me, us getting to film Seagrave smash a few cars… But I did want to bring up something to you…”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I’ve been eyeing someone for the project, an actress. Do you have any connections who could get a hold of Jodie Foster…?” 

I cocked my head. “Jodie Foster? What do you want her for?”

“I’m thinking about having these vignettes of car accidents involving celebrities. Jodie Foster is a top pick to play Jayne Mansfield. Seagrave agrees. Of course, he wants to do the stunts for her. That’s what those tits were for,” Vaughan replied. “I said, there’s no way he can be a double for Jodie, but… He’s insisting.” 

I didn’t think Jodie Foster would make a good Jayne Mansfield, but I didn’t say anything about that, I just nodded. “Are you thinking of doing the James Dean crash again, too? For television this time?”

“Of course. I just need an audience again, Ballard. I miss it. The bright lights, the cameras…” Vaughan sighed.

“I’m sure, the fame too,” I said. 

“You get it, Ballard. So… Do you think you can get Jodie?”

I didn’t think I could, but every part of me wanted to please Vaughan, so I said: “Absolutely.” 

“I think… What about Johnny Depp for James Dean?” he mused.

Another terrible casting choice. “I have to admit, I don’t think I can get him. He’s a bit out of the range, especially if we’re talking a salaried part.”

“Hmm… Maybe Nicolas Cage…”

I was beginning to feel like Vaughan didn’t have an eye for resemblances. “We’ll see?”

He nodded. “This has been a great night, Ballard. I mean that. I think you and I are really going places.”

“You do?” I was pleased to hear it.

“I do.”

It was quiet for a second, I could hear crickets chirping. We sat like that, just looking at each other.

“Should I drop you off at your apartment complex?” he asked at last.

“Yeah, I guess I should get back. Catherine’s going to wonder what happened to me if I don’t,” I replied. 

“I’ll have those anus pictures delivered to your postal box. Be sure to tell me what she thinks, alright?” Vaughan said, pride shining through. Pride… over his anus. Asshole. Anus? I guess I was accustomed to it. So fuck it, his anus... Well, maybe someday.

“Will do.” 

I guess I would be spending the next few days trying to get a hold of Jodie Foster, but if it meant Vaughan would be happy, I was fine to do the extra leg work. He drove me home, still talking about his project and giving poor examples of people who could play dead celebrities. I didn’t care if it was nonsensical. I was hanging on his every word.

I waved goodbye to him from next to the parking garage elevator. He waved back at me, and I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe the anus thing was ridiculous, but even through it all, we had a blast. Catherine was waiting up for me, and I smiled at her, and I said:

“You’re in for a real treat.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think 25 times, if you're curious.


End file.
